


A Suitable Match

by ladyeternal



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alpha Richard, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Bottom Misha Collins, Culinary courtship, Discussion of mpreg, First Time, Knotting, Love at First Sight, M/M, Male self-lubrication, Matchmaking Services, Omega Misha, Top Richard, reference to past attempted dub-con & past use of fictitious date rape drugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-05
Updated: 2018-04-05
Packaged: 2019-04-18 22:14:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14222907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyeternal/pseuds/ladyeternal
Summary: Richard had never wanted to meet prospective mates through a matching service.  Life is full of surprises.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own none of the persons whose likenesses and names are used herein and any resemblance to them or lack of same is purely coincidental. I own little more than a tabby that gets destructive when he feels ignored and am only playing with these worlds for my own amusement and the free entertainment of others.
> 
> Author's Notes: This is my first foray into both RPS & A/B/O fic. Please be gentle. While I tried to write this in a way that makes sex during heat an active decision rather than an irresistible biological imperative and to make consent explicit and affirmative, there may be scenes or tropes used in this fic that can read dub-con or are otherwise triggering/problematic for some readers. Please take care while reading.
> 
> Beta’d by secondplatypus, who deserves copious chocolatey treats just for putting up with me and my insane muse. ^_^
> 
> Also, I've played around with the characters' ages. For the purposes of this fic, Jared is 21, Jensen is 25, Richard is 33 and Misha is 20.
> 
> Feedback is adored, so if you like the fic, please comment! And the more details the better; I love knowing what people like about my work.

~ooooOOOoooo~

 

“I don’t see why we’re being put through this.”

Jensen gave his friend a bemused smile, leaning back in his chair and taking a sip of water. “Because we agreed to do it, and because we know it’s necessary.”

“There should be an age limit on it, though,” Richard groused, irrationally irritated by Jensen’s calm acceptance of this particular ritual. “I’m over thirty, Jen! Maybe there’s a reason I’ve not mated by now?”

“Yeah: you haven’t found what you’re looking for,” Jensen replied, shaking his head at the elder Alpha. “And there is an age limit, Rich; they’re not gonna actively promote May-December matings. True connections with that kind of age disparity are rare. You’re just mad because you thought you’d be mated by now. Admit it.”

Richard flung himself back against the chair cushion, the heat draining out of his complaints in the face of Jensen’s logic. Jensen had always been the one person who could talk around his moods. “Why aren’t you tetchier about this? I’d think with you and Daneel breaking up so recently, you’d be the last person to be blasé about arranging a mating.”

“Dani ended things because we were only ever friends-with-bennies and she found her mate; what exactly about that am I supposed to be bitter about? Besides,” Jensen glanced at him as he took another sip of water, putting his feet up on the nearby ottoman. “I’ve always had a feeling that I wouldn’t find my mate in our pack, or in any of the neighboring packs. It’s like I knew he and I were born far apart, and it would take time to find each other.”

“You said ‘he’,” Richard observed.

“So?” Jensen quirked an eyebrow at him. “I’d think you’d be the last person to make issue of that.”

“You’ve never gone after any of the yin-Beta or Omega males in the area.” Richard lifted his own glass to his lips, his amber eyes focused on his friend and fellow Alpha. “That something else you’re chalking up to that ‘feeling’ you were talking about?”

“Mm-hmm.” Jensen smiled knowingly. “No chance of mixing up signals that way. I’ll know my mate when I scent him.”

A soft grunt left Richard as he settled in to wait. He wished he had the prescience that Jensen seemed to possess, the certainty that his mate was out there waiting for him. But Richard had nearly given up on finding a mate altogether, and he wasn’t about to start indulging in fairy tale hopes now.

The philosophy behind the process was fairly simple to understand. Packs, even in modern society, had a tendency to isolate themselves. In rural areas of the country, it could be easily fifty miles between one pack and the next. While intermixing wasn’t frowned upon and was even encouraged when it came to mating, in cases where it could be a day’s walk or more between packs, it wasn’t easy to manage.

Pack society had three castes: Alphas, Betas and Omegas. Omegas were caretakers: they were the chefs and caterers, the homemakers and artisans, the nannies and interior decorators and tailors. Betas tended towards becoming architects and engineers, painters and sculptors, business owners and actors. Alphas took more authoritarian positions: lawyers and bankers, politicians and civic leaders and executives.

Each caste, too, had its own place in the perpetuation of the pack. Alphas of both genders could spark life, but could not carry it. Omegas of both genders were carriers. Betas’ procreative place were also not determined by gender, but by whether or not one was born ‘yin’ or ‘yang’, with yin-Betas able to carry children and yang-Betas able to sire them.

Each caste had a council, sometimes as small as three or four, depending on pack size, and each caste council had a representative that presided at pack council and territorial meetings. Pack councils were held generally biweekly, and were mostly informal affairs within smaller packs. Territorial meetings were generally held quarterly, unless a situation arose that required it in the interim.

Tradition held that every Alpha and yang-Beta that reached the age of twenty-five without mating should strongly consider mating outside the pack. It prevented stagnation of the gene pool and separated those who wished to mate but hadn’t found their partner from those that were destined never to mate, whose path lay along other avenues.

In recent generations, the process had been largely formalized between packs on the same continent: Omegas and yin-Betas of legal age who were willing to mate outside the pack territory were carefully screened and interviewed, and then their files were made available to Alphas and yang-Betas from other pack territories seeking same. For Alphas and yang-Betas who had registered their willingness to seek mates, reviewing such files every six months was compulsory until they either withdrew their interest or they found a mate.

Which was how Richard found himself sitting in a comfortable reception room with one of his oldest friends, waiting for the lovely (but mated) Omega administrative aide to bring him to a room where a stack of files and a queue of video introductions were awaiting him, all carefully screened based on his preferences.

Jensen might have sensed that his match would be made in this manner, but Richard had never wanted it to come to this. He’d resisted even registering for this process for years, until his mother had called down the Alpha council on his head and insisted that he… _“at least try to find someone. You need a mate, Richard. How will you carry on the family line without one?”_

Even now, as Jensen was called in just ahead of him, Richard winced at the memory of his mother’s unabashed guilt-mongering four years ago. He’d found no one since then, and was growing more and more convinced that he never would.

He settled into the screening room when called back, putting his feet up on the polished table and almost carelessly starting into the pile. It was mercifully small this time: fourteen in total, more female than male, more Beta than Omega. It wouldn’t take him long to review and discard these potentials just like all of the others, and then he could go to the Alpha council and withdraw his name from consideration.

It wasn’t fair, after all. Every time this came around, a small part of Richard got his hopes up. And every time he didn’t find someone that even piqued his interest, that part of him got a little bit smaller and quieter. He should just withdraw altogether, his mother’s guilt-tripping be damned, and settle into life without…

Without…

A pair of cobalt blue eyes stared back up at him. Bright and clever, dancing even in the still 4x6 photo clipped into the file, they caught and held his interest in a way that made Richard put his feet on the floor and grip the file tighter before laying it flat on the table to read more closely.

Omega. Twenty years old. Russian background, which explained those eyes; his lineage was from one of the Ukrainian packs on his mother’s side. Healthy and fertile and active, an assistant caterer with a repertoire built on unusual presentation and flavor combinations. A passion for philanthropy.

Misha. The name rang in his mind like a bell. Misha.

Richard fumbled to locate the remote for the TV/DVD combination that was installed and waiting, quickly flipping through the menu until he found Misha’s video. He cranked up the sound when it started, realizing it was lower than he’d like, and then restarted the track.

“I don’t really see much point to this,” the image said. He was wearing a sock-monkey hat and flannel shirt, and his expression was deceivingly guileless. “There’s all these questions I’m supposed to answer, but the answers are all in my file anyway, so…” Long-fingered hands tossed a stack of index cards over his shoulder. Then, oddly, he quite seriously picked up a salt shaker, shook some into his hand, and tossed it over his shoulder as well. “They say when you spill pointless index cards, you should throw salt over your shoulder for luck. Not that I know why; even salted, they’ll still taste like cardboard. But, well…” A careless shrug, another deceptively artless smile. “So, I’ve got two minutes left…” And he proceeded to recite what had to be the Gettysburg address.

In Latin.

Richard was laughing so hard by the end, he very nearly missed the cross-eyed, head-tilted smile that the young Omega flashed at the camera before covering the lens with his hand. The screen went black shortly after, and then reverted to the main menu with its ambient muzak.

He was still chuckling as he turned his gaze down to the file again. It had been a long, long time since anyone had ever made him laugh so much.

Reaching out, Richard pressed the intercom buzzer. The Omega aide came in, her soft blonde hair starting to slip from her serviceable bun in curling wisps. “Yes, Mr. Speight?”

“I’d like to meet this one in person,” Richard informed her, extending the file for her to take. “As soon as possible.”

“I’ll inform Ms. Ferris right away, sir.” With a smile, Alona took the folder from him. “Any others, or do you need more time?”

“Nope.” Richard stood, taking a deep breath. It felt cleansing somehow. “I think I’ll just wait for my friend in reception.”

“Of course, sir.”

Richard walked out behind her, following her gesture down the hall back towards the reception area. He felt lighter than he had in years, and maybe, just maybe, the hopeful part of him was a little bit larger than before.

And lingering in the back of his mind was a pair of laughing blue eyes.

* * *

Misha sat in lotus position on the bed, watching as his best friend pulled various articles of clothing from his trunk, held them up briefly for consideration and then hurled them to the floor with ever-increasing growls of frustration. “You’re going to run out of clothes soon, Jay.”

“I brought the wrong… everything.” Jared sank back on his haunches and raked a hand through his hair. “Seriously: my clothes all suck. Do we have time to go shopping?”

“No,” Misha replied firmly. “Your clothes are fine, Jared. With any luck, all your prospective Alpha will care about is how hard it’ll be to rip through them with his teeth.”

Jared blushed even as he let out a bark of laughter. “You have a filthy mind.”

“I have a perfectly normal post-adolescent mind,” Misha disputed, grinning impishly. “It’ll be fine, Jared. Your Alpha will see what a splendid specimen of burgeoning Titan-hood you’re becoming, fall madly in love, and whisk you off to climb you like a jungle gym before you can say _‘do these jeans disguise the fact that you can bounce half-dollars off my ass?’_ And then you’ll _have_ to go shopping because neither of you will leave the bed until you’re heavy with pups and in need of maternity clothes.”

“Misha!” Jared laughed harder, his shoulders loosening as the tension left his frame. “I doubt it’ll be that easy. We don’t even know each other yet.” A careless shrug paired with a slight tilt of his head and widening of his eyes gave Misha every appearance of conceding the point, but the smile tucked into the corners of his mouth suggested otherwise. Jared decided turnabout was fair play, especially in self-defense. “What about you? You think you and your Alpha are going to fall instantly and madly in lusty love with each other?”

“No.” Misha unfolded himself and rolled down onto his stomach across the bed, then reached out and snagged a green v-necked, long-sleeved shirt. “Wear this; it’ll accentuate the green flecks in your eyes.”

Jared’s face fell a little, concern for his friend showing at the edges. “Mish?”

“My Alpha won’t fall madly in love with me until I get the chance to cook for him,” Misha affirmed placidly. “I could wear a burlap sack when we first meet; it won’t matter in the slightest. In fact, I just might if you keep fretting. Now have you thrown your Diesel jeans into this heap, or are they still in the trunk?”

There was such earnestness in his tone that Jared was taken aback. It sounded like hyperbole, but Jared had learned over the years that with Misha, you couldn’t really be sure. For a long moment, they just gazed at each other, startled hazel into fathomless cobalt blue, and then Jared huffed out a laugh, dug his Diesel jeans out of his trunk and grabbed the complimentary iron.

Misha just rolled onto his back, let his head loll over the edge and watched.

* * *

How he’d gotten roped into accompanying Jensen to his meet with his prospective Omega, Richard wasn’t quite sure. He was sure Jensen had used some form of subliminal messaging, or even possibly mind control.

It had nothing to do with the fact that Jensen had casually mentioned they were going to meet at the diner where they served the best pulled pork Richard had ever tasted. And that Jensen was paying. Nothing at all.

At first, Richard took his role as wing-man very seriously. He was sitting alone at a table not far from Jensen’s: close enough that he could tell if the meeting between Jensen and the Omega wasn’t going well, but far enough away that it wouldn’t be obvious to the Omega that he was watching the exchange. They’d arrived first, and Jensen was almost fidgeting while they waited.

Five minutes later, a man that positively dwarfed Richard walked in the diner. His hair was long and soft, framing his face in lush walnut waves, and for all his long limbs and broad frame, Richard was sure he wasn’t done growing or filling out yet. There was no coltishness or lumbering to his stride, though; he moved with grace, a touch of hesitance on his perfectly carven face. After a moment’s pause and a glance around the diner, he walked straight to Jensen’s table and said Jensen’s name in a quiet rumble that would be like liquid sex if it dropped into a passion-husky timbre.

Jensen looked up, and up, and up. And then he smiled. Richard had never seen such a smile on Jensen’s face before. “Jared,” he breathed, relief obvious in his tone.

Jared smiled, the wide part of his lips carving deep dimples into his cheeks and revealing very straight, white teeth. He sat down across from Jensen, too long and tall for the seats to be completely comfortable, resting his forearms across the table for a moment and then crossing them in front of himself.

It took ten minutes for the way they stared at each other to make Richard feel completely unnecessary. The waitress had to clear her throat twice when she walked up to get their attention. Richard was served his pulled pork sandwich a few minutes later, and he tucked into it with less enthusiasm and more a driving need to finish his food and escape. Jensen obviously didn’t need him here for a rescue in case things went badly. Jared was the mate that Jensen had been sure he would find; the instant recognition that was sparking between them made it quite obvious.

“Either you haven’t eaten all day, or that sandwich is the absolute pinnacle of porcine cuisine.”

Richard’s head shot up, and his heart stuttered in his chest. A pair of bright blue eyes was fixed on his, set beneath slightly tousled shock of charcoal black hair.

“Then again,” the Omega continued as he sat down in the chair to Richard’s left and snagged a steak fry off his plate, “you’ve never had my barbeque pork medaillone.”

“I probably haven’t,” Richard agreed, hoping his voice wasn’t coming out in a croak.

“You’d remember if you had.” Those blue eyes twinkled. “I can correct that, if you’d like. Tonight? Your place?”

A startled laugh escaped, and Richard pushed the plate into the cunning little Omega’s reach. “Are you always this forward?”

“When I see something I want.” Misha chewed with a thoughtful expression on his face. “Actually, the pork for the medaillone would need time to marinate properly. How about my chicken marsala, instead?”

Glancing once at the table where Jensen was laughing quietly at something Jared was saying, Richard nodded and finished the last bite of his sandwich. “Jensen’s picking up the check as a bribe to get me to play wing-man.”

“Is that what you’re doing here?” Misha’s smirk deepened. “I was rather surprised to see you here when I followed Jared in… on similar purpose, of course.”

Richard blinked at him, suddenly struck with a ridiculous notion. _Of course_ there was no way Misha could have known Richard would be accompanying Jensen. There was no way for Misha to even know Richard and Jensen knew one another at all. It defied all logic… but something in those merry cobalt eyes…

Misha’s smile turned impish. “You’re not really sure, are you?”

This little Omega might just be able to read him like an open book. Richard laughed a little when he realized that he didn’t really mind. “C’mon… Jensen’s got the tab, and I’m fairly sure I don’t have a thing you’ll need in my kitchen.”

“Oh, God,” Misha bemoaned theatrically as they stood up. “They’ve sent me to be mated to a Philistine.”

“Even worse,” Richard declaimed solemnly as they walked out to Richard’s car. “A soon-to-be-former bachelor.”

* * *

If things turned out the way Richard wanted the courtship of his little Omega to turn out, life was never again going to be dull. And he was also going to gain one hundred pounds.

Misha shopped for everything like a man on a mission: fast and shrewd, compromising on some things while adamant about others. Richard drank every little nuance, feeling somehow more energized in the Omega’s presence than he had in years, memorizing the different head tilts and doing his best to file away his preferences for later reference.

His kitchen was possibly the most underused room in Richard’s house. It wasn’t that he couldn’t cook; his culinary abilities were average (and slow cookers were one of God’s gifts to mankind) and he’d never had any complaints from the occasional friend that he cooked for over the years. He’d simply never sought to enhance those abilities, and so had never put the room through its paces. Misha took less than five minutes to acquaint himself with the layout and then he set to work.

Richard tried to help, then to just keep up, but finally was put from the room by a _very_ busy Omega wielding a wooden spoon. Still wanting to be of some use, Richard started setting the table and chose the wine to go with dinner.

And since his dining room had a clear view of the kitchen across his breakfast bar, Richard was in perfect position to watch the lithe body in perpetual motion only a few steps away.

Slim and solid, a runner’s physique, the Omega’s body was being well protected from the extra calories that came from all those tasting bites a chef was required to take. Never still, Misha rocked on sock feet while he watched the ingredients bend to his will on the stove, his temptingly firm backside flexing within the confines of his jeans.

Richard got to find out all sorts of delightful things about Misha that night: the little Omega talked to the things he cooked; he was astonishingly talented in the kitchen; he’d learned Latin because he hadn’t wanted to take Spanish; he had a wicked sense of humor and a talent for sophistry paired with mischievous literalism. And his cobalt blue eyes were as deep and changeable as the ocean.

The third time Misha caught him staring, they were lingering over drinks while standing in the neatened-up kitchen after dinner. Soft candle light still flickered at the dining room table. “Do I have sauce on my face?”

“Uh… a little, actually.” Richard flushed, glad for the cover. He’d noticed the small smear earlier, but had barely registered it. He’d been too busy watching the way Misha’s lips shaped words when he spoke.

Misha shrugged, found a napkin and dampened it in the sink before handing it to Richard. “You can see it,” he reasoned in response to Richard’s surprised blink.

A startled heartbeat passed before Richard stepped into the Omega’s space. His growing respect for his potential mate shot up another few degrees when Misha stood his ground, not pulling back or pushing Richard away, his chin lifting with just a trace of challenge and his eyes never leaving the Alpha’s.

Pheromones rushed off the younger man’s skin, flooding Richard’s senses: heady and fertile, a spike of anxiety and the soft trace of arousal. It was all he could do not to growl encouragement and lick the sauce smear away from the corner of that tempting mouth, to kiss Misha senseless, to grab and pull and tear until the complicated creature before him was naked and yielding and moaning and knotted across the breakfast bar’s polished granite top…

Another blast of anxiety, stronger this time, brought Richard up short. The younger man hadn’t budged an inch and was looking directly into Richard’s eyes, expectant and even faintly amused. Rich blue eyes that held no hint of what might be going through Misha’s mind were locked on Richard’s own amber, but there was a tension in Misha’s frame that hadn’t been there before.

Richard buried instinct and lifted the napkin to Misha’s cheek, carefully wiping away the trace of marsala sauce from that strong, slightly clenched jaw. “There,” he murmured, surprised at how deep his voice felt. “All gone.”

His feet felt like lead as he stepped back, the Alpha in him snarling for its mate’s submission and surprise coloring Misha’s scent, still so strong that Richard doubted he’d smell anything else for days.

“Thank you.” There was a curious tilt to Misha’s head as he watched the Alpha take a reflexive sip from his nearly-empty wine glass. “Well… I should probably be going. Not that I’ll have a roommate at the hostel tonight, but my toothbrush is there, so…”

“Yeah; oral hygiene’s important,” Richard replied, feeling some equilibrium return. “Way more than clothes.”

Misha snerked. “Tell that to Jared: he brought half his wardrobe with him. Why, I have no idea.”

“Didn’t think they’d match?” Richard guessed. “Jensen can be hard to read sometimes.”

“No, not that. I knew they would; so did Jared. I just figured Jared’s not gonna be wearing much this week, so he could’ve just waited and sent for everything at once.” Richard snickered; Misha smirked at him. “What? Jared’s known Jensen was his mate since he was twelve.”

Richard blinked, then laughed. “How?”

“Apparently, one of Jensen’s friends had started a band that had some actual talent…”

“Steve Carlson,” Richard interjected, remembering the time he’d actually plied Jensen with enough alcohol for it to slip out. They’d become friends that night, instead of just Alpha acquaintances. “Jensen and another kid, Chris Kane. All three of ‘em can play guitar and sing down the moon.”

“Well, I guess Steve’s brother was the best man at a wedding in our pack, and he arranged for them to play the wedding.”

“Let me guess: Jared was at the kids’ table?”

Misha nodded. “The groom was one of Jared’s older cousins. He told me that he caught Jensen’s scent from the dance floor and couldn’t get him out of his head. Supposedly, he went into his first heat three days later. His parents made him wait until he finished nursing school to register, but he’s always known Jensen was his Alpha and that the Mating Registry was the only way he’d find him.”

Richard laughed softly. “Jensen must’ve scented him in the crowd but couldn’t pick him out from the stage. He’s avoided male lovers for years because he wanted to know his mate on scent.”

“Hope Jensen’s okay with being hip-deep in pups.” Misha rolled his eyes. “Jared’s likely to be pregnant before they can even set a date.”

“What about you?” Richard asked, surprising himself. “What are you looking for, Misha?”

“Well, I’m just a sucker for fairy tales.” Misha’s pose dropped from defensive to sighing-adolescent with all the flair of a compulsive over-actor. “I want a Prince Charming on a white charger to come riding up, sweep me into his saddle and carry me off to an enchanted castle in the forest, where we’ll live happily ever after in a place where bluebirds come when you call and only villains and parents ever die.”

Richard bowed floridly, then crossed the room and scooped a startled Misha into his arms. “Your wish is my command! I can afford the horse, I’m sure we’ll find a proper castle somewhere, and my mother will eventually forgive me if my marriage causes her untimely demise.”

Misha laughed despite himself, even as Richard set him down. The Alpha’s arms stayed wrapped around him though, and Misha found himself caught by the golden eyes staring into his own as their laughter died away. “So…” he said softly, not really sure what he wanted to say and a little flustered by it.

“I’ll call you a cab,” Richard offered, his voice soft and dark as the night that had descended around them.

“That might be best.” Misha didn’t move, noticing not for the first time how gentle Richard’s touch was, how easily he could break free of the embrace if he chose. How dizzyingly good Richard smelled.

“Yeah…” Richard agreed. He could still scent unease in his Omega, was more than a little concerned by it. What had Misha to fear? Was he here in spite of it? If not, why had he come all this way? Why answer Richard’s request to meet at all?

“Yeah,” he repeated, stepping back so much more unwillingly than before.

He felt Misha’s eyes on him, studying him as he made the call, and couldn’t help but wonder at it.

* * *

They waited on Richard’s front steps, the night clear and not cold enough to force them indoors. They talked of nonsense, of stars and childhoods spent under them, easy as old friends.

When the cab arrived, Richard walked Misha to it, even opening the door for the Omega and offering a smile. “I had a good time tonight.”

“Me, too.” Misha gauged him for another moment, then, placing one hand on Richard’s hip, he leaned in and brushed a soft, almost experimental kiss over Richard’s lips.

The heat of it rushed in Richard’s veins like a chain reaction, driving one hand up to thread in that inky black hair and keep Misha in the kiss for another moment, then another, until the taste of the evening’s cuisine was ash in comparison to the flavor of those mauve lips against his own. The cabbie’s grumble barely registered, and this time Misha broke the embrace, pulling back and shifting his head free of Richard’s grip.

“I’ll call you,” the Omega promised, and then the cab door was closed and it was pulling away from the curb.

Richard felt like he was walking through gelatin as he made his way back into the house, his senses fogged, filled with the unexpected younger man. He locked up in a daze, finding his way to the bedroom on habit, his clothes left in a haphazard trail behind him.

When he finally sprawled onto the bed, a silk scarf tight around his aching knot and his hand stroking almost too fast to stay slick, it was Misha’s eyes dancing in his vision, Misha’s nimble hands and tight, perfect heat on his body, Misha’s soft, bewildered voice moaning his name while he shouted the Omega’s.

An orgasm like a lightening strike and a thousand tiny shudders later, Richard knew two things.

He’d found his mate.

And he needed to interrupt Jensen’s honeymoon.


	2. Chapter 2

~ooooOOOoooo~

Richard knew he was likely crazy to knock on another Alpha’s door when said Alpha was probably in the mood to knot his Omega. Doubly so when it was a new fertile Omega, and Jensen had a fiercely protective streak when it came to those closest to him. So Richard did the diplomatic thing and called first.

He wasn’t sure if it was a good or bad thing that he got the answering machine. “Jensen? I know you can hear me: you and Jared can’t have left that condo once you got there. I’m coming over; I need to talk to your boy. Be unknotted and put your teeth away; you’ve got twenty minutes.”

It would probably take twice that in morning traffic, but it never hurt to give Jensen a sense of urgency.

* * *

When Jensen opened the door of his A-frame for Richard thirty minutes later, he looked irritated but calm. Richard was surprised to _not_ smell the musk of fresh sex on him or on Jared, who was sitting on Jensen’s patio drinking a cup of coffee. “Hey… I disrupt the plan for some lazy morning knotting?” 

“None of your business, Rich.” Jensen poured him coffee from the carafe, then topped off his own and Jared’s before sitting down.

Jared was blushing. Richard’s eyebrows shot up. “God, you two are going to be one of those sickeningly gooey couples, aren’t you? You’re going to be so gone on each other it’ll make the rest of us all look sociopathic in comparison.”

“Shut up, man,” Jensen snorted. “You’re the one so hungry for his Omega that you’re here for best buddy dating tips after one dinner.”

“Yes, but at least I have a sense of humor about it.” Richard tried to hold an arch look, but Jensen quirked one eyebrow and he deflated with a sigh. “He’s impossible to read. I can’t tell when he’s serious and when he’s not, and that’s when he’s not being deliberately outrageous to deflect instead of giving a straight answer.”

Jared chewed his lower lip for a moment. “He’s just trying to feel you out. It takes a lot to get past his defenses sometimes, even if you’ve known him for years like me.”

Richard looked directly at Jared, almost imploring. “He smells fearful, Jared. Not ‘I’m afraid of making an ass of myself’ nervous, but like he’s actually worried about what I might do. Anything you can tell me… I’ll owe you big.”

Jared stewed over that for a long moment, his eyes far away and his long fingers nimbly folding an absent napkin swan. When he finally looked back up, it was at Jensen, and something passed between them that Richard couldn’t immediately identify.

“I’m gonna go… do something in the kitchen,” Jensen muttered. Jared reached out to catch his hand as he rose, a beaming smile of gratitude on his open face. Jensen’s answering smile unfolded like a flower in sunlight, and then Jensen pressed a soft kiss to Jared’s palm before slipping inside.

Richard secretly prayed that his relationship with Misha would be half so tender. “So,” he prompted, hesitation creeping into his tone. “About Misha?”

“It’s not my story to tell,” Jared started. “Not entirely. I can only tell you what I saw.”

The words settled into Richard’s stomach like a lead weight. “Of course.”

“Did Misha tell you anything about his family?”

“A little,” Richard admitted. “I got the impression that his father was pretty old school.”

“Very,” Jared confirmed. “Misha came from another pack, actually; he was able to come to ours because his mother was cousin to our Alpha, and she negotiated an apprenticeship for him with Sam… Samantha Smith.”

“You know her?” Richard was familiar with the name; Samantha Smith had catered some of the finest gatherings in the last decade. Her taste and her discretion were both impeccable.

Jared smiled. “My next-door neighbor. I was her ‘official taste-tester’ for years, and I waitered for her in high school and nursing school for extra money. Misha graduated high school at sixteen and came to live with her; it’s how we met.

“About a year after Misha moved there, this Alpha started sniffing around him: older, college guy named Mark. At first, he was all kinds of attentive, perfect gentleman, didn’t step even near the line. Got Sam’s approval to court Misha and everything. Misha was bowled over; his father hadn’t allowed him to date before he came to live with us, and Mark was charming and genteel and treated Misha like he was the most special person in the world. Everything seemed fine, ‘cept I kept getting a vibe off Mark that I didn’t quite trust.”

“What happened?” Richard asked, bile gathering in his throat as fear of the worst set in.

“I only know what I saw, Ri-”

“Just tell me!” Richard snapped. He scented Jensen’s anger, knew the other Alpha had heard his outburst. He didn’t quite care, fear of what he might be about to hear making him anxious.

Jared shook his head at the Alpha who appeared in the doorway behind Richard, signaling that he was all right. “One of the guys I knew threw a party, and Chad’s parties were always huge; I didn’t even know Misha was gonna be there until I saw him with Mark. The party’d been in full swing for a couple hours, but Misha never drinks much, so when I realized he looked pretty blitzed, I got worried and started keeping tabs on him… and that’s when I saw Mark slip him a couple hot spots.”

Both Alphas instinctively snarled.

‘Hot spots’: tiny pills that had been concocted during the Summer of Love, designed to chemically induce a heat state in yin-Betas and Omegas. Couples had used them to enhance their sex lives; orgies and key parties had seen them passed around like candy or crushed and mixed with sugar to rim cocktails. Supposedly only able to induce the hormone release but not full fertility, some yins and Omegas had taken them to offset their birth/heat control meds, wanting the abandon of heat without the potential for pups that they weren’t ready or able to care for.

They had also become the date rapist’s drug of choice.

Jared didn’t like remembering that night: standing toe-to-toe with that Pellegrino asshole, the Omega in him responding to the Alpha on too many instinctive levels. Fighting his own nature had been the hardest thing in the world, but he’d managed it, refusing to allow Misha to step around him or Pellegrino to talk either of them down. Genevieve had finally seen what was happening and intervened, the petite ferocious Alpha practically snapping her teeth in Pellegrino’s face while Sandy had dragooned Chad and Brock into helping her get Misha out to a car. Matt had come over to back Gen up, giving Jared a clear exit window to get Misha somewhere safe. Even now, Jared wasn’t sure he would have gotten out of there that night if so many of his friends hadn’t stepped in to help. Wasn’t sure he wouldn’t have just wound up taking Misha’s intended place that night, instead of taking Misha home to nurse him through his heat.

But that wasn’t for Richard to know. Maybe Jensen, someday, but Misha and Richard didn’t need to know that part.

“I got him out of there,” he continued quickly, wanting to defuse the Alpha tempers that were clearly boiling at the thought of Pellegrino’s plan for Misha. “Misha’s always been sensitive to medication, though, and it took a couple days for the effects to wear off. Sam and I nursed him through it on our own. By the time Misha was calmed down enough to want to know what happened, he was also damned close to swearing off Alphas entirely.”

“So why’s he here?” Richard blurted, tone angrier than he meant it to be. But he couldn’t help it. Protective of Misha already, furious with this former boyfriend personally and just on principle, Richard wanted to bite someone. To sink his teeth into the offender’s flesh and let hot blood sate his outrage. “If he doesn’t trust Alphas, why didn’t he restrict the availability of his profile to yang-Betas?”

“He’s always wanted an Alpha,” Jared explained gently. “And he doesn’t like being afraid. So looking for an Alpha, considering pursuing a relationship with you? Is his way of telling the part of himself that’s afraid to screw off. Misha doesn’t do anything he doesn’t want to, which is why what Mark did has him on edge around Alphas.”

“It’s not me he’s afraid of,” Richard concluded. “He’s afraid of missing the signs that I’ll take away his ability to decide, like his ex tried to.” Jared nodded and Richard let out a long sigh. “So what do I do?”

“Just be yourself,” Jensen replied before Jared could. “I know that you’d sooner cut off your arm than hurt somebody, Rich. Misha’ll figure that out. Just give it a little time.”

Richard nodded, half to himself. “Thanks, you guys.”

* * *

The next several days were a blur of culinary ingenuity.

It didn’t take long for Misha to figure out where Richard worked; the minx had a way about him that caught even the most level-headed person off-guard. He showed up at the newspaper offices completely unannounced, bribed his way past security with a basket of chicken wings char-grilled in a honey-garlic sauce, and waltzed into Richard’s office with a pair of warm capocollo subs on fresh wheat rolls, smothered in melted white mozzarella and topped with roasted red peppers.

Apparently, the impish creature Richard was considering mating had talked the chef at one of the local cafes into letting him use their kitchen. Being Samantha Smith’s best assistant chef seemed to carry some weight in culinary circles. But the idea of Misha spending enough time there to handle any other meals set Richard’s teeth on edge. Mark Sheppard was a yang-Beta with a notorious reputation for… well, pretty much everything.

If Misha was surprised by the fact that Richard told him the location of his hide-a-key and gave him unfettered access to the house “so you’re not in anybody else’s way while you’re cooking; that’s all”, he didn’t show it.

Once Misha had an all-access pass to Richard’s home, the Omega took over the kitchen like it belonged to him. Over the week that followed, Richard was treated to the barbeque park medaillone Misha had promised, Moroccan lamb over couscous, fried chicken tossed with filé powder, phở gà with fresh herbs and Sriracha, seafood manicotti, a variant on bangers and mash made with bratwurst and purple potatoes, and three varieties of homemade wontons that they fried right at the breakfast bar in a hot oil fondue.

And those were just the dinners.

Misha had to admit: he enjoyed cooking for Richard. His prospective Alpha’s palate was adventurous, and Richard never stinted at helping clean up afterwards. He offered to pay Misha back for the groceries that went into their epicurean courtship, but he backed off when Misha refused it. No matter how late they lingered over dessert, Richard either drove Misha back to the hostel or called him a cab.

And no matter who initiated each good-night kiss, Richard let Misha retreat when he wanted to, never pushing for more. Never tossing out any of the dozen sly innuendos about breakfast that Misha had heard from Alphas and yangs who found out he could cook with a modicum of skill.

He could see that Richard wanted to, sometimes. The Alpha’s wit was almost as sharp as his own, and there was an unconscious charisma to the older man that made nearly every other sentence a flirtation. Richard was a warm and generous and open, and Misha was beginning to believe that he was seeing the real Richard, not a façade.

But somewhere between the gazpacho and grilled cheese he’d made for Richard’s lunch and stopping at the hostel for a quick nap before picking up the fresh ingredients he would need for shimp ‘n’ grits with Holy Trinity sauce, Misha was treated to a rude awakening. He’d lost track of the date.

The first wave of his heat washed over him as he was unlocking the door to his room, and Misha ducked inside in a near-panic, slamming the door so fast that he heard the people in the neighboring rooms murmur at the sound. Rushing into the bathroom, he tore his clothes off and stepped under the lukewarm spray, gradually dropping the temperature as low as he could stand it and praying it was just a hot flash.

It wasn’t. The chilly water helped the sudden overwhelming tightness and flush in his skin, but made the ache in his lower belly even sharper in contrast. His knees buckled as internal muscles cramped from want, his body viciously reminding him that his quarterly biological imperative had come due.

Kneeling on the cool ceramic floor of the tub, Misha closed the drain and let the shower water fill up around him, eschewing relief from the cramps in favor of making his skin and muscles feel normal instead of itchy and heat-heavy. There were minor pain relievers he could take, but they offered only temporary respite from the symptoms of an unsatisfied estrus.

His father had never allowed him to take suppressants; his mother had helped him through the milder heats of his younger years with herbal teas made from the same ingredients on which the more sophisticated medicines were based. But even those had a minimal effect now.

The hot spots Mark had spiked him with had affected his heats in the last few years, making them burn more fiercely and extending them by an average of two days. Jared had helped him then, combining the herbal teas his mother had used with more… intimate… therapies. Resorting to non-penetrative sexual gratification had been necessary during that first chemically-induced heat, and when Misha’s next natural cycle had come on with blinding intensity, it had turned out to once again be the only thing that really assuaged his body’s demands.

Their friendship had barely survived the confusion that came in the aftermath, but Misha had been determined not to lose Jared to the strangeness that followed such intimate knowledge of each other. Fortunately for him, Jared hadn’t wanted to give him up either, and they’d found a balance between an ordinarily platonic relationship and the times when their synchronized heat cycles drove them to need something quite different.

But Jared was mated: the formal ceremony recognizing their union hadn’t even begun being planned yet, but Misha knew that Jared and Jensen would be totally inseparable now that they’d found each other. It wouldn’t be fair to intrude on them, even if Misha could bring himself to let Jared’s new Alpha in on the action. Alone, with his mother’s herbal teas as his only aid, Misha could look forward to at least a week of unslaked need turning his body into an enemy he couldn’t fight.

Unless…

The bath level had long since risen high enough to submerge his entire body, and Misha shifted in the cool water, mulling over the option that his lust-addled mind was prodding him with. Jared wasn’t the only person he could ask to help him through his heat.

He had an Alpha that he was coming to trust. An Alpha he liked, enjoyed cooking for. An Alpha that could give him everything Jared couldn’t.

When he felt steady enough, Misha rose from the water and padded, naked and dripping, into the common area of his room to fetch the carafe for the coffee pot. He would make a pot of his mother’s tea, which he was never without, and that would keep him from attracting every Alpha and yang within a five-mile radius.

As soon as the tea was made, he retreated to the cold bath with it, sinking gratefully into the water and using his tea to wash down two Advil for his cramps. A part of him couldn’t believe he was even considering asking Richard to knot him. They’d known one another such a short time, and Misha didn’t trust his mating instincts. Not after what Mark had done.

But that little voice in his mind kept whispering that Richard would be good to him. That Richard wasn’t some over-possessive knothead that would use him and pass him around and drop him when he was through. Richard would understand why Misha was cautious, and would respect the fact that sex right now didn’t mean Misha belonged to him. Richard would agree that Misha belonged to himself.

Richard might even take care of him if he wound up heavy with pups from it.

Closing his eyes, Misha leaned back and let himself drift while the tea took effect. He had a few hours before Richard would be getting off work, and Misha needed them to consider his decision. It wasn’t much of a choice, but he still had one, and his body could take a number while he made it.

* * *

There was a thrill in Richard’s fingertips as he drove home that night. He was getting used to coming home and finding another person there, and even better was that the someone might be convinced to become his mate. His hope, once nearly snuffed out, was shining brighter inside him each day. Misha was everything he might have hoped for, and last night he’d even discovered an added bonus: like his mentor, Misha wanted to run a catering company out of his home someday. _Their_ home, if this kept going so well.

He’d happily be Misha’s guinea pig for new dishes, and the time he would spend in the evenings working on things for the newspaper could be spent with Misha working on his own business duties nearby, companionable silence and warm cocoa close at hand.

And maybe even children, someday.

When Richard unlocked the door, though, he could immediately tell something was different this evening. There was no scent of food wafting across the threshold from the kitchen, though there was something else in the air. A warm, heady scent that was pulled into Richard’s face by the stir of air as he closed the front door: powerful yet subtle, and Richard was struck by the impression that he should know what it was. “Mish? You here?”

“Richard?” The voice was quiet, almost uncertain, followed by Misha’s tousled head appearing around the door frame of the small mud room just inside the front door.

“Hey… everything okay?” Richard toed off his shoes and hung his jacket on the hook by the door, then started towards Misha in concern. “Did something happen to-”

The question was lost as the force of Misha’s full weight practically slammed into him, backing Richard up against the front door with jarring impact. Richard’s mouth opened to cry out, to demand to know what was going on, only to be silenced as Misha’s lips slanted into his own.

All at once, Richard seemed to ignite, the hands he’d raised instinctively to fend off the attack relaxing where they pressed into the hollows of Misha’s shoulders, then slipping down, gliding under Misha’s arms and around his waist to pull the Omega in. Misha’s fingers were woven up into his hair at the temples, palms inordinately hot against the arch of his cheekbones, holding Richard in place while Misha devoured his mouth.

It struck Richard all of a sudden, as he gulped air in the half-second that Misha released his mouth to change the angle of the kiss: he knew what that scent was. What the sudden change in Misha’s attitude meant. Why Misha’s hands and mouth felt so unusually warm.

Misha was in heat. Full-blown unsuppressed estrus. And he’d been waiting here for Richard for who knew how long.

Just the thought of it sent spikes of lust tripping down Richard’s spine.

When the kiss ended, Richard stared at Misha, senses reeling and his clothing already too tight to be borne. “Misha…”

“Help an Omega out?” The words were vaguely breathless, those cobalt eyes fever-bright.

“Are you sure?” Richard could feel his hands tightening where they clung to his Omega’s slim body. He wanted Misha naked right now, wanted to rip off the clothing keeping that potent, fecund scent even the least bit dampened, wanted his Omega spread and wet and pleading for his knot. But he _needed_ Misha to have no regrets. To be certain.

“Of course I’m not,” Misha snapped. His nimble hands had released Richard’s face and were now practically tearing Richard’s shirt open, insistent and clumsier than Richard had ever seen them. “I’ve only known you a week.”

Richard grabbed those hands, fighting as hard as he could against the Alpha instinct to take what was being offered. “Then why are you here?”

“I’m horny, you’re hot and you want me.” Misha’s eyebrow twitched up. “I need another reason?”

“Yes!” Richard was shaking now, the force of holding himself under rigid control making his muscles quake. “When it comes to this, you need a better fucking reason.”

“Why?”

The questions set a snarl mounting in Richard’s throat. He choked it back. “Because I don’t just want you as a ripe, wet hole for my knot.”

Impossibly, the rich heat-scent Misha exuded became even headier, a rush of it flooding the air. Those glorious blue eyes widened for just a moment in honest surprise, and then his whole face softened. “Which is why I know I won’t regret this, no matter what else happens.”

It was Richard’s turn again to be surprised, and Misha watched the way fire seemed to leap in those dilated golden eyes. The light in them sent fresh waves of want through Misha’s veins, and he licked his lips unconsciously. “Please, Richard. I don’t need noble right now. I need fucked and knotted… and I want you to do it.”

A half-dozen heartbeats passed before that sank in, and then Richard slid his hands up, framing that often inscrutable face, and pulled him in for a deep, claiming kiss.

Misha molded into him, soft noises of want throbbing in his throat, each swallowed as Richard held him, held him and refused to let up until they were both drunk from heat and want and lack of air. Tiny snippets of memory flashed through Misha’s mind, comparisons to Mark and to Jared tumbling in nonsensical patterns in the back of his scattering thoughts. Richard was more like Jared than Mark: safe and comforting, but able to take control when Misha needed him to.

When Richard finally let his lips go, both of them panting for air, Richard kept hold of him, tipping his head until their foreheads touched. Misha left his eyes closed, sure Richard had done the same, concentrating on the way his body had stopped clamoring wildly. The want of his heat was focusing in the presence of its Alpha, responding to the dominance in the kiss and the perfect tension of the grip and the pheromones now pouring off Richard as well. “Kitchen or bedroom?”

“What?” Richard’s world had narrowed to the Omega in his arms, fingers unwilling to relinquish contact for fear Misha would vanish in a puff of smoke.

“You think I haven’t noticed the perfect height of that breakfast bar?” The deep gravel baritone of his own voice surprised Misha even as he slid his hands up into Richard’s open shirt, fingertips skimming solid muscle as he shoved at it until Richard helped and it was tossed to the floor in a crumpled heap. “Or the way you keep eyeing me like I’m what you want served up across it?”

Richard kissed him quiet, the prospect too tempting by half. “Later,” he growled. “Bedroom for the first round.”

A light, quicksilver laugh, and then Misha danced from his arms and sprinted down the hall. Richard felt a predatory smile pull across his mouth as he gave chase, catching Misha just across the threshold and spinning his weight, sending them both sprawling across the bed in a tangle of limbs. Richard didn’t have much chance to even catch his breath before Misha had crawled on top of him and flattened out, sinking down onto Richard’s body and leaving a trail of tiny teasing bites from the underside of Richard’s jaw to the dip of his collarbone.

With a growl, Richard flipped him, amber eyes hot as he pulled Misha’s shirt up and over his head. “You’re wearing too much.”

“Do something about it.” Misha ran appreciative fingers over Richard’ s chest, teasing the hardened nubs of his nipples and tracing down to flirt with the button holding the Alpha’s khakis closed. “I’m helplessly in lust here, o mighty Alpha-ah!”

Misha’s tease ended with a surprised squeak as Richard rolled him again, putting Misha on his knees between Richard’s legs while Richard opened Misha’s jeans. “No, you’re not, and I don’t play those games.”

“Not yet, you don’t.” Misha kissed him, mouth sweeping down over Richard’s before he slid back off the bed.

But he didn’t slip his own clothes off the way Richard expected. Instead, his fingers touched down on Richard’s knees, light as a butterfly’s landing, then slowly splayed around the knob of them, palms fitting over the curve. Richard watched, lay as still as he could and watched that perfectly-carven face as Misha let his hands glide up the length of Richard’s thighs, fingers curling and flexing as they slid along the firm muscles. They dipped briefly, following the cut of his hips, and then Misha was unfastening the button of his khakis, drawing down the zipper with a careful deliberation.

Richard’s entire body shuddered, his body rebelling at the slow pace, but Misha didn’t hesitate long before he was hooking those long fingers into the waistband of the boxers beneath the trousers and tugging. His hips arched, the limber Alpha holding the position until the layers of fabric were tugged away from them, then relaxed back down while Misha finished pulling them off and tossed them aside.

The unconscious way that Misha licked his lips as those cobalt eyes flashed to the erection throbbing heavy and dark against Richard’s abdomen damned near undid the Alpha’s tenuous hold on his control.

He sat up slowly, watched Misha’s eyes track the movement, reaching out a hand in invitation. “Care to join me?”

Misha laughed a little, the tension cracking as he took the proffered hand, letting Richard pull him in close. Soft lips brushed the skin just over his heart, sending treacherous curls of heat and tenderness through Misha’s belly, and his hands sank up into Richard’s hair while Richard worked his jeans and boxer-briefs off his hips to pool around his ankles.

Without warning, Richard’s arms wrapped around Misha’s thighs, just under the curve of his backside, and when he rocked back, the hold let him pick Misha right off the floor and spill him down across the bed again. Misha gasped and scrambled, Richard following him, and then Richard was stretching out across him, pressing the full length of his lean frame against Misha’s body, kissing Misha senseless and running light fingers over Misha’s skin.

Instinct kicked in, and Misha’s legs slid open, easily tangling around Richard’s flanks and dragging their hips that much closer together, enhancing the friction of arousal grinding against arousal and sending red hot sparks through Misha’s entire body. From the way Richard groaned against his skin, the feeling was mutual.

Except Richard wasn’t getting right down to it. Misha had been sure that the Alpha would pounce on him, would have him fucked and knotted before he could turn around twice. He remembered his father being barely able to keep his hands off their mother long enough to be sure the children were otherwise occupied; remembered the way Mark’s eyes had glowed hot whenever the subject of Misha’s heat had come up. Even Sam, as cool and poised as she always was, had sent him to Jared’s at the initial signs of her heat rather than try to contain the reaction both she and her mate, Jeffrey, always had to it.

Foreplay was for sex outside of estrus; heat was about fucking until both partners were dehydrated.

So when Richard didn’t just push Misha’s legs wider and take him, when he started memorizing Misha’s skin with his lips and tongue and fingertips, Misha wasn’t entirely sure that his Alpha understood the urgency of the situation. He tugged at Richard’s hair with one hand, the other fisting the sheets beneath them as Richard’s tongue toyed mercilessly with one nipple. “Richard…”

“Hmm?” Richard’s eyes flickered up once, then back down as he nibbled at the tender skin beneath the curve of Misha’s pectorals. It practically shot Misha off the bed. “Something you don’t like?”

“The wait,” Misha groused, wriggling beneath the Alpha as Richard nipped at the opposite muscle.

“Sorry.” Maddeningly, Richard shifted his weight further down, so that Misha’s insistent erection was now trapped between his abdomen and the solid line of Richard’s chest. “That better?”

The sound Misha let out was a garbled mess of frustration and need, especially since Richard had followed up the completely innocent question by latching his mouth onto the skin above Misha’s navel and sucking a dark red mark into it. “Now is no time to be having fun with homophones, Alpha. You’re supposed to be fucking me stupid right now.”

“Oh?” Richard shifted and tipped his head up, his expression curious for a moment before melting into a grin of mischief that was nothing short of adorable. “Oh, well.” And then, before Misha could protest, that clever mouth had ducked down and was sealing around the leaking head of Misha’s arousal.

Misha bucked off the bed with a shout, babbling out apologies even as Richard followed the movement. Two fingers of Richard’s left hand circled the base and gripped tight, backing off the imminent climax Misha’s body was already primed for, while the right hand curled around Misha’s thigh, his thumb stroking over the velvet-soft skin.

Those two fingers became his whole hand, gripping with just the right pressure, letting Richard focus the efforts of his mouth and tongue on the sensitive hood. That right hand was never quite still, lazily stroking from the nerve bundle above Misha’s knee to the delicate flesh of his testes to the perineum that was damp and sticky with Misha’s slick.

Every breath Misha let out ended in a whine as Richard learned him, head thrashing and the fingers of one hand staying knotted in Richard’s hair, though he no longer tried to direct Richard. At the moment, it felt like his womb was a black hole that threatened to consume him from the inside out, and every touch was just adding fuel to the fire.

When Richard finally, _finally_ slid his fingers back far enough, skirting around the soaking ring of muscle, Misha’s hips jerked again and he found his voice. “God, yes, please… godsdammit Richard, you’re killing me here; hurry up… please…”

Richard had already let Misha slip from his mouth, and he shifted back up to kiss him, his right hand still tucked under Misha’s hips and massaging the muscles that kept flexing in need. Slick and hot, Richard’s entire body was clamoring to be buried all the way to the knot in that space, and Misha pleading for it was sawing at the last threads of his control. “I will, _ljubímyj_. Trust me.” Startled by the endearment from his mother’s homeland, Misha whimpered as Richard brushed kisses under his ear. “Roll for me, Mish. It’s easier on you.”

A twinge of nerves flared, and for a moment, Misha wanted badly to be able to see Richard’s face when he took his first knot. But he and Jared had talked about it, had looked things up on the Internet in the quiet aftermath of a heat-spike, and they’d agreed that face-to-face was too ambitious for the first time. Misha let go the impulse as Richard withdrew his hand from between Misha’s thighs, sliding over onto his stomach and stretching out.

Even then, Richard didn’t just grab his hips and push in. He brushed fleeting soft kisses to the nape of Misha’s neck, the axis of his shoulders, the knobs and dips of his spine even as he urged Misha up to his knees. The hard line of his erection kept brushing Misha’s slick cleft as he maneuvered them both, folding Misha’s hands over the edge of the headboard and fitting himself into the space between Misha’s spread thighs, and every tacky-slick glide of skin on skin made Misha throb. “Richard…”

“Trust me, _ljubímyj_.” Richard’s hands finally framed Misha’s hips, the palms finding purchase and spreading those smooth cheeks. Outside of heat, he’d need to prep Misha with more thorough care, stretch and massage and tease out his slick. But now estrus was releasing a flood of chemicals into his Omega, endorphins that made his internal muscles pliant and greedy for an Alpha’s knot.

It still felt like an eternity between the moment when Richard first pressed up against the tight ring of muscle at Misha’s entrance, still kissing the nape of Misha’s neck, and the moment when those muscles opened for him, welcomed him in and gripped at him as if to never let him back out. Misha startled in his arms when he felt it, his breath jagged as his body went stiff. “Easy, Mish,” Richard coaxed, running his hands along Misha’s sides and then curling his arms around the Omega in what he hoped was a soothing embrace. “It’s okay… you’re okay…”

A shaky breath passed Misha’s lips, and he opened his eyes to glance back over his shoulder. Richard was holding him, cradling his body as if it was precious to the older man. Only an inch or so deep, and yet the Alpha was pressing no further, riding out Misha’s bout of skittishness and letting him get his bearings again. The embrace was warm and comforting, but not controlling. Even now, Misha could push his way free and leave, and he was certain that Richard would let him.

That thought, more than the still-insistent demands of his body’s heat, was what had Misha pressing back and down, slowly taking Richard down to the crown of his almost-knot. “Don’t quit on me now, Alpha. We’re finally getting to the good stuff.”

Richard laughed, the vibrations transferring from his chest to Misha’s and sending shivers through the Omega’s entire body. “Yes, dear.”

Any rejoinder Misha might have attempted was cut off as Richard’s hips shifted, sliding out and then surging back in to the hilt. The fullness of it made Misha moan, made him let go the headboard and sink back into his Alpha’s arms, letting Richard control the pace.

The trust in the gesture burrowed into Richard’s heart and settled there, glowing like an ember.

Slow and sweet wasn’t enough for long, though. Misha craned his head back as he rode the rhythm of Richard’s hips, brushed a kiss across Richard’s cheek, and then pitched himself forward. The motion broke Richard’s embrace and Misha caught himself on the headboard, shoving his hips back into Richard’s with a wanton moan of the Alpha’s name.

It was an invitation too good for Richard to resist. His hands latched onto Misha’s hips and he let his breeding instincts take over, shifting Misha’s knees even further apart to change the angle. Misha tossed his head, practically howling for it, his hips trying to push back but Richard controlling even that, making him take it as Richard started grinding on every second thrust.

Misha’s vocabulary disintegrated at the first tug of Richard’s swelling knot against his rim. He was dimly aware of the word ‘yes’ babbling over and over from his tongue as Richard kept pounding into him, of his hips swiveling in Richard’s grip whenever he felt the knot push in, wanting to encourage it, to lock in the fullness and heat of his Alpha. His heartbeat thundered in his ears and he thought he heard Richard say something but he couldn’t make it out…

And then Richard’s hand slid down, fingers catching Misha’s heavy, leaking erection and stroking, and Misha didn’t know anything beyond white heat blazing over his senses, his body dissolving into wracking tremors as he spilled in his Alpha’s hand.

When the haze subsided, Misha was dimly aware of something heavy and warm across his back. It took a moment for his sluggish mind to register that it was Richard, that his Alpha had used the distraction of his orgasm to finally tie off, because there was his Alpha’s knot, stretching him and locking them together. Other sensations began to register: the way Richard kept brushing kisses across the sweat-tacky skin of his shoulders, the vague ache in his hands from how tightly he’d been gripping the headboard. The warm pulse of his Alpha’s seed filling into his womb, steady and strong as a heartbeat.

If he didn’t come away from this pregnant, he’d be extraordinarily surprised. The thought had occurred to him earlier today, too, from the moment he’d acknowledged that coming to Richard to relieve his heat as a truly viable option. Misha didn’t think he’d regret it, though. It might just be the post-coital endorphins, but a part of him wanted very much to know what a child of his and Richard’s might look like. Wanted to know for certain that Richard would be as good a father as Misha thought he’d be.

Careful as if he was handling glass, Richard slowly eased up from Misha’s back. Cool air hit the skin and Misha let out a soft sound of protest even as Richard reached up, slowly prying Misha’s fingers free of the headboard and gathering him in. Misha heard himself mew, and Richard murmured a nonsense reassurance as he eased them both down onto the bed and away from the wet splotch created by Misha’s orgasm.

When they finally settled, Richard resumed the gentle kisses along Misha’s skin. His fingers stroked soothing circles into Misha’s ribs and stomach, and one leg nudged between Misha’s, changing the torsion on his hips enough that the knot shifted into a slightly more comfortable position inside. Everything about his Alpha right now was warm and protective, and Misha was glad they weren’t face to face because he didn’t want Richard to see the wet on his lashes.

“Thank you,” he rumbled softly, sliding his right hand to tangle over Richard’s. “That… it’s better now.”

“You’re welcome.” Richard wasn’t sure how to take the oddly formal tone in Misha’s voice. It made him nervous. “Misha?”

“Yes?” Misha burrowed back a little bit, not sure he wanted to talk right now.

“Just so you know…” Swallowing against his nervousness, Richard tried to cast caution to the wind. “I know we’ve only known one another a week, and that you’re really still just considering me. I know this doesn’t have to mean anything other than two consenting adults having incendiary sex. But…”

When he hesitated, his nerve failing him, Misha found himself holding his breath. “You learned to say ‘lovely’ in Russian.”

Another kiss to the curve of his shoulder. “You are.”

There was a long moment of silence, and then Misha squeezed the hand he was holding just a little tighter. “Actually, I think I know everything I need to, now.”

Richard’s heart gave an unsteady little lurch. “And?”

Shifting a little, ignoring the tug at his rim it caused, Misha was able to turn his head and look up into those uncertain amber eyes. “I’m gonna hold you to that promise about the castle. We’re likely to need it, with the number of pups we’ll probably have.”

His eyes went wide, taking in the sparkling blue eyes and mischievous smile, and then Richard laughed and kissed him. “I’ll call the realtor the minute your heat’s over.”

Misha kissed him back, then snuggled back in and closed his eyes, letting the feel of his Alpha pulsing inside him lull him into a well-deserved nap. He was glad he’d prepped a picnic basket earlier and put it near the bed.

After all, they _had_ skipped dinner.


End file.
